


Come Hell or Full Circle

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Minor Bellamy Blake/Echo, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 17:41:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: There's plenty to do, even now that they've achieved something like peace, and Clarke has much better things to think about than her love life, which doesn't exist anyway. Thinking about romance--or the lack thereof, or romances other people have--would be a waste of time.So she doesn't, really. She doesn't think about it as hard as she can.





	Come Hell or Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to just write some canonverse smut, but we fit some pining Clarke in there too. Per the tags, she is fretting about Bellamy and Echo, but they are not a major factor in the story. As always, I am actively avoiding fandom conversations about Echo, because they hella stress me out, so please do not bring this conversation to my comments. Thanks!

Clarke would like to say she hasn't had time to worry about unimportant things like _romance_ since they opened the bunker, and it's mostly the truth. Romance hasn't been anywhere close to her top priority, on the other side of the world from what she cares about. She's managed to find plenty of things to do that are completely unrelated to romance. She's a mother, after a fashion, and a doctor, and a member of something like a council. She's the leading expert on Eden, and a decent negotiator. She has plenty to keep her busy.

It's just that, at some point, _not_ thinking about romance becomes such an intense priority that it comes back around to thinking about romance. Trying not to watch out of the corner of her eye when Bellamy is next to Echo, trying not to think about how long it's been since she saw the two of them kissing, trying not to add up how long he spends with each of them, like that means _anything_ , like Bellamy would ever prioritize his own love life over the job he needs to get done--that's always in the back of her mind, an inescapable arithmetic.

So she tries to find other things to focus on. She thinks about Madi, and keeping her safe in a time of uneasy alliances. She thinks about her mother, worries over her detoxing, trying to stay clean even when running away from the world seems so much easier. She thinks about her friends, all of them, even the ones who don't feel like friends anymore, and the ones she's lost.

She thinks about Bellamy, but just to want the best for him. To hope he's happy. To hope he stays safe, when he leaves, and that he'll come home soon.

That's not worrying about romance, that's worrying about her best friend. That's allowed. She's not doing anything wrong.

He's been gone for three days, and is planning to be gone for another two, when Echo sits down next to her by the fire. 

The two of them haven't bonded, and Clarke likes to tell herself it's not because sometimes, when she closes her eyes, she still sees Echo kissing Bellamy by the rover that first day. She and Echo weren't friends before, and there's no reason they should be now. They're on the same side, and Clarke appreciates her skills, her loyalty, the contributions she makes to the greater good. But they aren't the kind of people who chat by the fireside.

So she asks, "Is everything okay?"

Echo huffs. "Yes. But I needed to tell you something." Clarke frowns, and Echo leans forward, elbows on her knees. "He and I aren't together anymore."

Her first, somewhat spiteful, impulse is to ask who she means, but they both know, and Echo is already telling her this, raising this subject even though she looks like she swallowed a bag of rocks.

"Since when?"

"Officially? About a week before he left. Unofficially--" She shakes her head. "It would have happened sooner, if we had more time to talk. I never thought we'd make it, once we were back on the ground. Even before I knew about you. The fewer people you have, the easier it is to get along. If there were survivors down here, I knew everything would change."

Clarke feels her mouth twitch. "I know what you mean."

"I thought you might."

They lapse into silence, and Clarke tries to figure out what her line is. It would be disrespectful and ungrateful to act like she didn't know why Echo was telling her this, but it doesn't feel like they can talk about it either. _Thanks for telling me you broke up with the person I'm in love with_ isn't a great conversation starter either. And it feels unfair to ask what Echo expects her to do with this knowledge; that's not really her responsibility either.

Echo must reach the same conclusion, because she stands. "I'm just saying, I won't be kissing him when he comes home this time. Maybe someone else should."

"Thanks," is all she can manage, and Echo nods.

"I thought you'd like to know."

For the next two days, not thinking about Bellamy becomes basically impossible. She can imagine herself, in some other life, throwing herself into his arms like she did all those years ago, running toward him from sheer joy of seeing him, but she doesn't know how to be so unselfconscious again, how to push all her feelings aside and just be happy to see him.

She couldn't just _kiss him_. Not with all this space between them.

All the fretting turns out to be for nothing, though; Bellamy doesn't come back with fanfare, no dramatic entrance or great reunion. Clarke isn't even aware of it, when he comes back--she's in the clinic, doing inventory, and she doesn't realize he's come in until he says, "Wow, are supplies really that interesting?"

She jumps, whirls to see him smiling in the doorway. He was just out scouting, not in any real danger, but every time he's gone now, Clarke can't quite breathe right, wondering if he'll ever come back, if the last few months were a dream and she never really got him back.

"I was counting."

"Yeah, that's why I waited until you were done."

Her brain catches up with her. "Are you hurt? What happened? Are you--"

His laugh is soft. "I'm fine. I was looking for you so we could talk about the trip."

"Oh. What happened?"

He sits down on the cot in the middle of the room, shrugging off his jacket like he's settling in for a long stay. Clarke tries not to let her eyes linger on the curve of muscle on his arms and chest, but the t-shirt is tight, and he isn't spoken for.

"Nothing, really. It was pretty good. I think Diyoza was telling the truth, all her people are willing to make nice. Me and Miller were always ready to get stabbed in the back, but--" He shrugs. "Peace is smarter, maybe we all finally figured that out."

"Only took six years."

"Depending on when you start counting." He shakes out his shoulders and his neck, and Clarke has to smile. Every now and then, he'll complain he's getting old, and it still feels like a miracle. Bellamy Blake might live to see thirty, against all the odds. "How was it back here?"

"Quiet. Like you said, no one's making waves. They could be biding their time, but--"

"It sounded like most of the real problem cases followed McCreary. Once we took them out, everyone was a lot more on board with the alliance."

"At least for now."

"At least for now."

"So, nothing exciting?"

It doesn't sound like he's fishing for anything specific, more just curious. He was gone for five days with only three other people; if anything big happened, it would have been here. And there were things that mattered, things that he'd cared about, conflicts between Octavia's people and the Eligius crew, tensions that smoothed out but still could flare up. Important things, things she should prioritize.

Instead, she puts her full attention on a box of bandages and says, "Echo told me you two broke up."

She counts eight seconds before he says, "Yeah. A couple weeks ago."

"Sorry."

Six seconds. "Are you?"

"Not at all," she says, immediately, and guilt chases after. "I mean--"

"Clarke," he says, gentle. "Will you stop doing that and come over here?"

He's smiling when she finally looks at him, his expression as gentle as his voice. There's room next to him on the cot, and when he pats it, she does jump up, arm brushing his.

"I assume breakups are usually rough," she says. "So if it was, I'm sorry."

"It wasn't the best conversation I've ever had, but I felt better after. It was the right call."

"Then I'm not sorry."

They sit in silence, arms touching, and Clarke wants to say something. She wants the perfect words to exist, the ones that explain how her chest is too tight all the time, how she can't quite look at him even though that's all she wants to do.

She wants him to just understand, without her having to say anything, because nothing seems to be enough.

"Madi told me you called me," he says, hooking his pinkie over hers. "On the radio."

"I wasn't just--" she starts, but there's no good reason not to tell him. He already knows. And he's being honest with her. "Yeah, I did. Every day."

"I don't even know what I would have done, if I knew you were alone down here. And I know you had Madi," he adds. "But--fuck, Clarke, I left you here."

"But you came back. I'd rather have you safe and me alive and--" Her throat closes up on the stupid _joy_ of it. For six years, she was waiting for this single moment, Bellamy sitting next to her, close enough she can feel the warmth coming off him, feel certain that he's alive.

"Together," he supplies.

"Yeah."

He takes her hand, slow and deliberate, and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her skin. And it's--lovely, really. Soft and sweet and perfect, a moment made of spun glass.

Clarke shatters it, surging into him with a speed that would embarrass her, if enough of her mind was able to focus on that. But every corner of her brain is busy with how long she's waited and how much she loves him and how much she _wants_ him, wants this, how close she needs to be to him, immediately. He lets out a soft huff of surprise at the contact and he staggers back a little, but that just puts her on top of him on the cot, his hand cradling her head as she kisses him.

The last person Clarke kissed was Niylah, in what feels like another lifetime, and the last boy was Finn, another lifetime ago. It's been so long she feels like she doesn't remember what to do, but her body does, short kisses turning longer and longer, her body relaxing into his, her hands finding purchase in his hair.

"Clarke," he murmurs, against her lips. 

"What?"

"Just reminding myself."

She nips his bottom lip, gentle. "Bellamy."

"Yeah." One big hand slides up her back. "We shouldn't do this here."

It would be more convincing if he wasn't still kissing her between words, if he seemed able to stop touching her for more than a few seconds at a time. 

"It's not going to take long," she says, grinding down against his leg. She's gotten off more recently than she's kissed someone, but her sex drive was pretty low for six years, and now it feels like she's in overdrive. She needs him everywhere, immediately. She doesn't know if he can leave this room without having him inside her.

He does pull back at that. "Really?"

"Not the first time."

He lets out a shuddering breath, presses his nose against her jaw. "I was going to do this right. It feels like all I've been thinking about for--fuck, way too long. I was going to--"

"Do you love me?" she asks.

"Yeah, of course."

"Then you can't do it _wrong_."

"Spoken like someone who's never had bad sex before," he mutters, but there's a smile in his voice.

"It doesn't have to be huge or romantic or perfect," she says, ignoring him. "I don't care, I just want--"

He leans up, catches her mouth for another kiss. "Yeah, me too. Get the door?"

Clarke rolls off him, closing the door and locking it, and Bellamy doesn't give her a chance to come back to him. She cleared off one of the counters earlier and he pushes her up so she's sitting on it, kissing her without restraint, like he really thinks they only have a few minutes to do this. It feels like the world is ending again, and he wants to kiss her as much as she can before that happens.

She tugs on the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, and he pulls back long enough to toss it away, getting hers with it. She gets her bra, tugs him back in before he has a chance to look because she needs the feel of skin on skin, as soon as possible.

"Fuck, I should have come back sooner," he mutters, fumbling for her breast, and she moans.

"Finding more liveable land is more important than--"

"I didn't just mean the trip," he says, and then his mouth is on her neck and his hands are mapping her skin, thumb flicking her nipple, and the response she wants to give dies in her throat. "How long do you think we have?"

"Not too long."

"We're going to take this slow later," he says, nipping her shoulder. "But--"

"Fuck me," she says, and he gropes her once more before he gets her jeans undone and off.

It's not the most comfortable place she's ever been, the countertop a little chilly under her, the knob of a cabinet pressing into her shoulder, but Bellamy's getting his own pants shoved down enough that she can see his dick, and that's a lot more important.

"I hope your implant didn't break," he mutters, and then he's pressing in close.

Clarke's mouth opens in a silent moan, the pressure unfamiliar and a little painful after so long, but Bellamy is careful, patient, and by the time he's in, all she wants is more.

She can hear him start a question, checking in again, and she appreciates it, but she doesn't want to wait long enough to reassure him that she's fine and ready. She just rolls her hips, encouraging, until he groans and starts to thrust.

"Oh fuck," she gasps, fingers curling hard against his back. He's going to have marks, but it won't matter, because she's the only one who's going to see them.

"Yeah," he murmurs, teeth scraping her neck. "Fuck, Clarke, you're amazing."

Stars burst behind her eyelids as he changes his angle, and for a second she's afraid she'll forget how to breathe. "Right there," she manages, and he speeds up, hips snapping into the spot over and over, exactly what she's been needing. Slow will be good, later, but now what she wants is for this to be too much, fast and dirty and perfect, both of them losing control with how good this is.

The orgasm rocks through her, making her shake and cry out, and he he bites her shoulder as his thrusts go sloppy as he gets closer.

Once she can breathe enough to speak, she kisses his shoulder, his neck, everywhere she can find, murmuring encouragement, telling him how much she wants to feel him. He catches her mouth, quick, but he's breathing too fast, and then he's coming, spilling into her, just like she imagined.

They're both still for a long moment, panting, blissful, and then reality sets back in.

"Okay," he manages, and she laughs.

"Okay?"

He kisses her. "Amazing. Just--we're good, right?"

"Yeah."

"Okay." He pulls back, eyes roving over her. "This isn't the only time we're doing this."

"Of course not."

"I just meant--we should get dressed. I assume you need to finish this and pick up Madi. We have stuff to do that isn't just--"

It's what she's been thinking for weeks, for months, ever since she first realized she couldn't have him. There are so many more important things in the world than just him, than just them. They don't have time for more than just this, because there are politics to be considered and resources to allocate and it never _ends_ , the things they have to do. She could fill every second of her day and have no time left for Bellamy, and she tried so hard to do it and he leaked in anyway.

He doesn't have to be the most important thing in the world, but that doesn't mean he can't matter. So she tugs him back in, kisses him long and slow, the way she thinks he wanted it to be. Romantic.

"I think we can take a little longer," she murmurs, and he bumps his nose against hers, smiles.

"Yeah, we deserve it."


End file.
